Who wouldn’t be happy to be at Grandma and Grandpa’s house?
Recently Ouest decided she wanted earrings. I admit, I was in no hurry. I know in Mexico, and in the States too, that it isn’t uncommon to get a girl’s ears pierced practically the day they are born, but we’d put it off all these years, and it began to feel a bit like a rite of passage. And like I said, I’m in no hurry to see Ouest through these rites. Can’t we just slow time down!
But who am I to keep a little girl from earrings?
Oh, and she got all her hair chopped off that morning too.
Getting ready for a road trip, because we just don’t get enough of those. Our ’65 Porsche has sat—unexpectedly, as most cars in storage do—for five years since we drove it back from Mexico with Ouest when she was only a couple of months old.
Ali’s dad started it a handful of times, but it’d been quite a while since the last time. It hadn’t been put away for long-term storage—winters included—but there was nothing to do about that now.
Taking the cover off it still looked as good as the day we left it. We wheeled it out into the sun and mulled over our options. It’s never been an especially easy car to start, so we quickly abandoned the idea of cranking it with the key. Instead we grabbed the six-wheeler, attached the winch to the small tow hook under the front of the car, and went for it. He pulled me around the field, but it wasn’t turning over. We puzzled over that for a few seconds before realizing that I hadn’t turned the key on.
He pulled me down the street in first gear and within seconds the car fired up and stayed going. I did two quick loops around the block and pulled it back into the garage. We siphoned the gas out of the tank, changed the oil and filter, and called it good. The battery was shot, so we pull started it again, and I went off for a twenty mile drive. Like new.
Or at least fairly new. It is fifty years old this year, after all. Remember, this is the car I came home from the hospital in as a baby—my first car so to speak.
The clutch is slipping a bit, and the parking brake cable is snapped, and we need a new battery, but aside from that the old car is ready for the open road again. We’re headed west—as always, it seems—in a couple of weeks.
Four generations. Ninety-five year-old great-grandma recently moved into an old folks home and she couldn’t be happier. Live music, beer bingo, three meals a day—the place is perfect.